


Karma and Regret

by chasing_moonlit_smoke747 (orangeink)



Series: Genderbend [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Female Jack Morrison, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 10:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12057276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeink/pseuds/chasing_moonlit_smoke747
Summary: Even though he knows what’s coming, the sight of her still forces the air from his lungs.Or: Struggling to figure out her identity, Talon tracks Soldier: 76 to a bar.  Reaper is sent in after her.  Old feelings emerge, and Reaper suffers (willingly).





	Karma and Regret

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this in a couple of hours and there is nothing more I can do with it. Take it. Enjoy.
> 
> (R76 has kind of hijacked my brain. Also, I don't own anything, except the plot.)
> 
> Warning for swearing.
> 
> Inspired by a combination of Attention by Charlie Puth, driving home from work at 1 AM trying not to hit a moose, and the fact that I have a weakness for flangst (fluff and angst).

Even though he knows what’s coming, the sight of her still forces the air from his lungs.

She’s knocking back a shot when he stalks in, her bared throat gleaming in the dim lighting of the bar. When the amber liquid drains from her glass, she slams it back down onto the oak counter and graces the bartender with a small smile.

The bartender, a twenty-something-year-old whose sleeves are rolled up to reveal his muscled forearms, has the audacity to smile back at her as he pours her another round. His eyes _leer_ , roaming over the preternaturally fit form of a woman old enough to be his mother. Bile rises in Reaper’s throat. White-hot fury surges in his chest.

_Punk_ , he thinks, adding a new addition to his Recreational Assassinations List. Reaper’s form shudders, the anger disrupting his careful control of the nanites. Rolling his shoulders, Reaper recites old mission statistics to reign himself in.

It wouldn’t do for this reunion to take place when he’s half smoke-monster.

“Reaper,” Sombra’s voice crackles on the comm. unit in his ear, “what’s taking so long? The tracker I put on Seventy-Six is just twenty feet in front of you. Are you blind? Do you need back up?”

Rolling his eyes at Sombra’s sass, Reaper focuses on the sensation of his black silk shirt sliding sinuously over his muscles. Satisfied that the nanites will obey him, Reaper reaches up to tap the comm.

“No,” he growls. “Leave this to me.”

Reaper drops the comm. unit on the floor and crushes it under his heel. Glaring at the bartender, he allows his eyes to flare carmine, waits until the kid wilts and scurries away. _Not so bold anymore, are you?_ Reaper sneers at his retreating back.

Then his gaze returns to _her_ and he shakes himself free of the pettiness. Sights set on his prey, he saunters up to the bar.

His traitorous throat catches at the vision she makes, haloed by the ambient lights.

Bitterness goads him into approaching from her blind spot. Reaper knows the exact moment she senses someone at her back, watches as her shoulders stiffen.

Before she can whirl around, he changes course and takes a seat on the stool to her right. Leans against the bar like the pose doesn’t make his ribs ache from the last fight he lost against Soldier: 76.

“Hello, Jackie,” Reaper purrs, studying her guarded expression. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Her hair has turned ashen. Her face is bisected by scars, but it is still all strong angles and handsome elegance. There are lines around her mouth that betray her age. Evidence of stress that make him wince. Despite himself and the explosive history between them, Reaper wishes he could kiss the lines, soothe them away.

_Dios_ , but she is beautiful.

With great reluctance that would get him shot if his Talon employers discovered it, he drags his gaze up from her mouth. Something twists in his chest when he realizes her eyes are cloudy.

_That explains the visor_ , he thinks. His nanites buzz in agitation.

For an eternity, she simply stares at him. Cornflower-blue eyes as wide as when he got down on one knee for her, a lifetime ago.

In the hollow place where his human heart used to beat, Reaper _aches_.

“Gabe,” Soldier: 76 breathes. Her voice is rougher than he remembers. His eyes trace scars down her throat, riveted by something gleaming on her chest.

“So, you finally decided to show your face, you son of a bitch.”

The harsh words combined with her hoarse tone startle him. His eyes dart back to meet hers, and she pins him with blue fire.

“I thought it was you,” she snarls, leaning up into his space so the lights gleam off her bared white teeth and he catches a whiff of her familiar gunmetal scent. “These days, less than five people fight like they went through SEP hell, and only one of them ever had a fetish for shotguns and leather.”

She reaches into her jacket and smashes a small purple device onto the polished wood, crushing it. “I may be old, but I’m not an idiot, Gabe. If you thought you could bag and tag me that easily, then you’re a fool. Tell your hacker she has to do better.”

“We didn’t know it was you,” Reaper snaps. He steals her drink and downs it in one gulp. The burn loosens his tongue, “Talon has no idea Jacklyn Morrison is still alive. Hell, _I_ didn’t even know until three hours ago.”

That makes her pause, “You didn’t know it was me?”

“I suspected,” he murmurs. Reaper edges closer, answering the challenge in her stance. “Like you said, there aren’t many left alive today who went through SEP hell. Only two females ever graduated from the program.”

“Which is _bullshit_ , by the way—”

It soothes something in him to hear her start in on an old argument. Instinctively (foolishly), he reaches out and snags her hand, pressing it against his chest. “I know.”

Her fingers curl, wrinkling his shirt and pressing with enough force to leave welts on the cold skin over his heart. But she doesn’t pull away. Simply continues to glare at him with eyes that blaze with the force of her fury. Knowing full well he is playing a dangerous game, Reaper slides her hand up and trails his lips over her scarred knuckles.

He watches her eyes dilate, the cornflower blue shrinking as the pupil expands. She shifts, and gold glints at her collarbone.

“You kept it,” he says, glancing down at the ring. His tone is faintly awed with a hint of disbelief, and she recoils.

Wrenching her hand away, she turns back to the bar and stacks her elbows on the wood. Refusing to meet his gaze, she grumbles, “I shouldn’t have. You always scoffed at sentimentality.”

“I lost mine in Zurich,” Reaper admits; remembers dust, debris, disintegration and _mindnumbingpain_. “Jackie, I—”

She stands, her stool screeching across the floor. Leaving a crumpled pile of bills on the counter, Soldier: 76 throws her jacket on and stalks to the door. Reaper is immediately on his feet, “Jackie, wait!”

Ignoring him, she marches out and ducks down an alley. Frustration bleeds crimson across his vision, and Reaper stops pretending he is still human. His form bursts apart and he billows after her, dogging her steps like smoke following a fire.

Flowing past her, he reforms and cuts her off before she can reach the busy street and disappear. Maintaining his nanites so his body wavers like a mirage in the desert, he crowds her against the graffitied brick wall of the alleyway.

Jacklyn raises her chin, unimpressed. “Fuck off, Gabe. You’re Talon’s dog now. If you have something to say, say it with your fists and your shitty aim.”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he retorts, marksman pride smarting at her slight.

Her bitter laugh scrapes against her damaged vocal chords and grates on his ears, “Do I, Gabi? Really? You’ve killed at least thirty ex-Overwatch operatives, most of them in Talon’s name.”

She shoves at his chest and he solidifies to hold his ground. He braces his arms on the rough brick next to her head as she rails against him, “I don’t have time for your bullshit. Get out of my way.”

“Not until you listen,” Reaper growls, low in his throat.

“Is that a threat?” Her searing eyes narrow like she’s daring him to defy her and _Dios_ , but he’s always been a sucker for women who can give as good as they get.

“Maybe,” he purrs, leaning down the three inches it takes to match her lips with his own. He kisses her, exploring the new scarring on her mouth with his tongue when she growls and reaches up with gun-calloused hands to drag him closer.

“Jackie,” he whispers against her lips, reverent as the familiar push and pull between them sparks a cascade of burning-bittersweet memories. “I’ve missed you, _cariña_.”

Her teeth slice down on his lip and she pushes him away, “You don’t get to say that. You don’t have the right, Gabriel.”

Sirens wail in the distance; someone in the bar no doubt witnessed his loss of control and called the local authorities. To make matters worse, Talon will become suspicious of his radio silence if he doesn’t check in soon. As much as he would love to argue with her, wind them both up until they take each other apart with sweet brutality, he needs to wrap this up.

“That’s not my name, anymore,” he says.

Jacklyn scoffs; he responds by sharpening his teeth and nipping at her neck. Reaper revels in the way her breath hitches and smiles as he tastes her skin, “Careful, _mi sol_. I still bite.”

“Bite this,” she says, kneeing him in the groin. Reaper chokes, and Soldier: 76 laughs at his agonized expression.

“That was low, Jackie.”

“Deal with it. Like I said before, you don’t have the right. Not anymore,” she drags him up against her again until they’re eye-to-eye. Because Reaper is a bastard, he grins and shifts his eye color from dark brown to carmine. The former Strike Commander of Overwatch stiffens momentarily but recovers from her shock remarkably quickly. “Run back to your Talon masters, Reyes, before I shoot that smirk off your face.”

“Such sweet words,” he can’t resist teasing her, but the somber look in her eyes sobers him. He stabilizes his corporeal form and they stand in the musty, trash-strewn alley with a foot of space between them.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she says. _Yes, it does_ , he doesn’t say. _We’re both here. We laughed Death in the face. I can’t let you go._

Like years ago, Jacklyn seems to hear his thoughts. Her eyes soften and she reaches up, presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Goodbye, Gabe,” she says. Moving past him, she walks to the alley entrance and is swallowed by the nightlife crowd. She doesn’t look back, but he stares after her.

“Until we meet again, _cariña_ ,” he says to the empty air. Footsteps echo down the alley and he knows his time is up. By the time Sombra stomps to his side, his nanites have rearranged into his mercenary outfit, and the barn owl mask covers his expression.

“I can’t believe she found my bug!” the hacker is on a full-fledged rant, but she switches targets when Reaper doesn’t move to acknowledge her. “Geez, Reaper, next time you decide to go AWOL, give me more of a head’s up! Did you at least figure out who she was?”

“No,” Reaper growls. “Something must have tipped her off that we were onto her because she destroyed your tracker and caused a scene. She used the chaos to disappear.”

“ _Mierda_ ,” Sombra grumbles. “I swear, she’s more slippery than an _eel_. I don’t get _paid_ enough for this,” she bitches for a while longer before heaving a put-upon sigh, “Let’s rendezvous with Widow and see if she caught Seventy-Six’s trail.”

“I saw her moving east,” Reaper says, and listens as Sombra relays the information to Widowmaker.

Soldier: 76 had in fact been moving west as she vanished into the night, but he wasn’t about to inform his Talon associates of that fact.

_Talon has no idea the former Strike Commander of Overwatch is still alive, and I plan to make sure it stays that way._ He and Jackie had unfinished business, after all.

Reaper follows Sombra back towards the bar, his mind occupied by the seductive glint of gold rings and clouded, cornflower-blue eyes.

_Ay,_ _cariña_ , he thinks, lips twisting wryly. _Me puso a pensar acerca de cuando eras mío._

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, Gabe, you bitter old softie.
> 
> Inspired in particular by the following lyrics:
> 
> You just want attention, you don't want my heart  
> Maybe you just hate the thought of me with someone new  
> Yeah, you just want attention, I knew from the start  
> You're just making sure I'm never gettin' over you
> 
> (Oh yeah) you've been runnin' round, runnin' round, runnin' round throwing that dirt all on my name  
> 'Cause you knew that I, knew that I, knew that I'd call you up  
> Baby, now that we're, now that we're, now that we're right here standing face-to-face  
> You already know, already know, already know that you won
> 
> You got me thinkin’ ‘bout when you were mine
> 
> \--Attention by Charlie Puth
> 
> (Let me know what you think. I struggled forever to get a satisfactory spelling for Female!Jack's name.)


End file.
